


The Sweatiest Scene In Cinematic History.

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Writers Month: August 2019 [20]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Admire from afar, Canon, Crushes, Distractions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ice is sexy as hell, LGBT Themes, M/M, Playing With The Boys, Rivalry, Summer, Teamwork, Volleyball, Wandering eyes, Who plays volleyball in jeans?, beach, lots of sweat, oh yeah Mav
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-19 05:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Iceman. Iceman shirtless and sweaty. Volleyball. Iceman rolling around in the sand, hunting for said volleyball. Iceman’s twirling the volleyball, sweat glistening as he served. Iceman trying to kill Maverick with the voracity of his serves. Iceman.Writersmonth Day 22 Prompt:Summer





	The Sweatiest Scene In Cinematic History.

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend the 12’’ version of Kenny Loggin’s “Playing With The Boys” as you so read this.

When Maverick thought of summer, a few particular scenarios would constantly fill his head.

Iceman. Iceman shirtless and sweaty. Volleyball. Iceman rolling around in the sand, hunting for said volleyball. Iceman’s twirling and flexing, sweat glistened as he serves. Iceman trying to kill him with the voracity of his serves. Iceman.

The game was rife, two on two. The dogfight was well and truly on. Iceman had served, with his infamous one finger at the base of the ball, that sent screaming at Maverick to ‘get the hell over here and leave your shirt behind.’ It left little for the renegade pilot to say no too. Iceman’s honey golden tan shone, it caught the sun rays perfectly. The sweat was a distinct sheen all over his muscular chest and arms. He cocked a blonde eyebrow and pursed his lips, slamming the ball up and over the net and right into the sand in front of Maverick; who startled. The sheer intensity of the throw, the ripples of smooth chest and the tension in those sinew arms, Maverick had missed his shot.

Iceman was smirking, eyes planted firmly on Maverick. He could feel them, boring into his slick back as he knelt down to retrieve it. He cursed, and braced himself for the serve.

The volleyball flew wildly over to Iceman’s side of the court, to him, targeting him. He leapt forward, cat-like, and smashed it higher, sending it raging back over to Maverick’s side of the net. Iceman's chest crunched then spread itself so openly, muscles contracting, as he gracefully flew off of the court to return the ball. He was covered in sweat, it gleamed brighter and brighter with each turn of his lean frame, each time he fiddled with the ball and with each flex. Lots of flexing. Glorious flexing.

It wasn’t until much later into the game that finally, finally was Maverick rewarded with the Iceman diving headfirst into the sand over a miscalculation, looking graceful and somehow still like a glamorous, show stealing, golden retriever. The sand was sticking to him, the specs of it disrupting the tranquil coating of sweat. It dusted over his joggers, which clung tight to his legs, and were black. He was the Iceman after all, of course he wouldn’t overheat, when a challenge was involved.

Iceman peeled himself free from the sand and strutted away from Maverick, back turned, his cut hips swinging maddeningly from side to side. Ass popped out. It was then that Maverick saw and embraced the smooth curve of his spine, his strong and supportive shoulders. His back muscles flexed under his every move. Every strut.

He had kept checking his watch. He hadn’t a clue who had won. Although to Maverick, he was sure enough that the winning team didn’t involve anyone playing in their jeans. He swore, as he backed away from the court and certain wandering hazel eyes. 


End file.
